Well that's not weird at all. Just standing out there staring at lights. Totally normal and- NO WAY. Bam. Strike number two, face-changer. Definitely getting a not-human vibe here. Fae or magical. Or ... weird guy with a realistic mask collection? Could just be some kind of broadway actor. Those dudes are messed and really good at theatrical makeup. Just keep following him-- oh fuck.
She stumbles back, caught by those hands at her shoulders, and finds herself suddenly looking up at a surprisingly attractive face. Damn. Had he been that tall when she started following him? Wait. He was asking her a question. How the hell do mouths work?!
"My, what big hands you have, grandmother." Incoherent whispering of a shell-shocked crazy person? Maybe. Let him think that. No wait, act normal. How the hell does normal work? Normal definitely isn't being almost disappointed when he releases the hold on her shoulders.
"Uh-- yeah. Fine. It's cool, don't even worry about it. I wasn't paying attention." Yes she was. She was paying close attention and totally following this guy. "I"m tough. Sturdy. No big." She smiles.
Loki laughs, the sound soft and embarrassed, and rubs at the back of his neck. So he's the big bad wolf now, is he? Well, she's not far off. Loki's just the wolf's father, not the creature in the flesh.
"I'm really sorry," he says again, hands dipping into various pockets. "I should've looked first, it's just I seem to've forgotten my-- oh. Oh, no, here it is."
He extracts his hand from the inside pocket of his jacket, flashing both a mobile phone and a wan smile. "Well, now I feel like a right git. Not that I can't say I'm not relieved, mind; I really didn't want to have to go back in there."
Next, of course, is the faintly ashamed look and slight pause, as though he's said something he shouldn't have done. "Look, are you sure you're alright? Normally people don't try to imply that I'm a fairytale monster when I run into them, though I did hit you kind of hard, so, you know, fair enough."
The key to covering up the intentionality of these sorts of actions, in Loki's experience, is to not act perfectly contrite. To be apologetic, yes, but also to permit a bit of egocentrism, a bit of humanity. Nobody's that nice, especially not the sort of person who'd come out of a party like that one.
Okay, that accent is totally adorable but it's really not helping his case. Lauchlan, Ciara and Vex come to mind just off the top of her head. Obviously accent doesn't automatically mean fae, but combined with the other stuff?
She smirks at the fact that he doesn't want to go back in. He'd probably have to put on the other face. The smirk turns into a bright smile at the fairytale monster comment. She laughs, shrugging it off and turning that smile on him.
"I'd probably feel a lot better if you bought me a coffee. Judging by your expensive sense of style, I think you can afford it." Don't give him a choice. Pump him for info. See what you pick up. So much for the stealth tactic.
Put on the other face? Oh, no. Catching Stark's attention when there are alcohol and breasts to be had is no easy task, and hardly anyone in there would be sober enough to notice what Kenzi had. Those that were were far too self-absorbed, so really, there was no danger at all.
Of course, all that's an entirely moot point as he'd no reason to actually return in the first place. All part of the game, as is looking down at himself and laughing. "Well, yeah, I suppose I can, though not as well as you seem to think I can, I have to admit."
Hardly anyone thinks they're as wealthy as they actually are, he's noticed. A curious side-effect of the overall human difficulty with enumeration.
Green eyes flick back up to her face and the self-deprecating laughter fades into nothing more than a smile, wide and a bit abashed. "But yeah, alright. Did you have any place in mind? There's a café a couple of blocks down that's pretty decent, think they're still open. Good food, too, if you're hungry."
And that's one of the wonderful things about Manhattan, really. One is never very far from a passingly good café to utilise in situations just like this one.
"I could eat." She nods. Gotta be an act. EIther he wants something from her, knew she was following him, wants to eat her face and/or organs or--... is a mind reader?
Now is probably a good time to start mentally humming twinkle twinkle little star.
"I'm Kenzi, by the way." Still smiling and now holding her hand out to shake. "You sure someone like you wants to be seen with someone like me?"
The way she raises an eyebrow could mean quite a few different things. She'd let him decide how he wanted to take that. He could lead the way while she vigilantly watched for any sign of magical faejunk or whatever the hell was going on around here. Bo could handle the boobage and drunk billionaires.
Loki takes her hand to shake with another soft chuckle and lets his grip linger just slightly too long. "Ólafur. Ólafur Jökulsson."
He shrugs sheepishly. "Yeah, I know, I don't sound it. There it is though."
He is, though, after a fashion. Most of this has been pretty honest, as the best lies are. The dishonesty is largely in implications, in intonation and in phrasing, in the way he tries to nudge her into drawing her own conclusions.
"I really don't know what you mean by someone like me, by the way," Loki adds as he sets off down the street, looking down at her with a faint frown. "I was only there for a friend. Last I saw him he was very much distracted by a pair of legs that--"
He looks down at himself and hums concedingly. "Well, alright, they weren't longer than mine, but they were attached to someone much prettier than I am. Someone who also happened to possess a fine pair of breasts, and I certainly can't compete with that. Nor to be entirely honest would I care to. He can entertain himself the rest of the evening and everybody else can carry on pretending they're having fun. I'm done, and thank fuck for that."
He gives a wide, good-riddance gesture. "So really, anything on the menu. I owe you for giving me an excuse not to go back. Company's already infinitely better anyway. What about you, then; on vacation? Peoplewatching?"
The lingering grip thing? Nice touch. She can feel the heat rising to her cheeks as she turns her head away and pulls her hand back. Damn. This is one charming mofo. She can't even handle it. Play it cool, Kenz! Damn.
"Kind of a mouthful. You're... Norwegian?" Some kind of Scandinavian magic going on up in here. There are fae everywhere, he's not off the hook yet.
"Huh. I bet you I know that pair of legs." Sounded a hell of a lot like Bo. "Yep. Tallish brunette, brown eyes, and the best rack this side of the border? Sounds like your friend and my friend are getting along." Which just gave her more incentive to question the hell out of him. He seemed cool... but like hell was she going to trust a first impression. You can't trust anyone off the bat. Except Bo. And she is the ONLY exception.
"Ha. Don't say it like that. Owing me can be dangerous, I don't joke about favors." She eyes him warily, looking up with an expression halfway between amusement and severe distrust. There's no way he's legit into her... unless goth chicks are more his thing than fancy parties like he's trying to get her to believe. It would be nice to believe that. Not freakin' likely, but nice. "Vacation. Staying at that hotel. The friend has connections, I'm just kind of along for the ride."
It was basically true. All she left out was the part about working on this vacation and who those connections actually were. Mostly true. True enough.
"Guess we picked a pretty good time to come down, huh? The way they rebuilt everyone after that whole... thing. With the guys in the crazy outfits and the flying dudes? Were you here for that?" Just gonna casually glance up, looking more concerned than anything. "Didn't exactly get many details when it happened."
Loki looks down at her again, expression sobering. "I... yeah, I was, yeah. It was a nightmare."
And that is nothing but perfectly honest. The whole affair had been horrible for all involved, Loki no less than most. That he'd instigated the whole thing hadn't meant he'd enjoyed it, or wanted it, ultimately.
"It was... Hell on Earth. Nothing like it. You should've seen this place when they were through." He hunches his shoulders and falls silent for a time, faintly downcast in aspect as he slouches along the street, glancing over only to ensure that Kenzi is still following.
After a time, though, he straightens. "I'm sorry. Not a great set of memories, those. And, ah, Icelandic, by the way. Me."
Or at least his Icelandic is more natural than his Norwegian, which has changed in strange ways. His accent and word usage is notably archaic, and in a city like this? Well, that might just be noticed.
"And you, you and your friend are Canadian? Come down, you said. This side of the border. Yeah? Oh, here, come on, this is the place."
At the next corner he stops with a smile and a nod in the direction of the little shop he'd meant, small and comfortable. And better than that: they know him, but they don't know him. Not many people actually saw him clearly so not many recognise him, but he does get looks occasionally. They'd not be welcome now.
That the barista knows his order, however, is. It makes his story look better. He gestures Kenzi forward. "Anything on the menu, like I said."
Of course she was still following. Quietly. Pressing him about that particular topic might just push him away. It had looked pretty damn terrible. When he straightens again, she brightens a bit. The correct guess at her nationality earns him another smile. "Oooh, you're quick. I love it. Yeah, we're from Canada. Toronto. Not too crazy-far."
The cafe is totally cute. The fact that they know his order is totally adorable. The guy wears fancy scarves, hangs out with billionaires, goes to fancy parties, may or may not be able to change his face, isn't some high-society stereotypical douchebag, and he has a usual at a tiny cafe like this? She's not sure what to think at this point. The plot thickens.
She orders coffee, black, and chocolate cake. Sugar and caffeine! Who needs actual nutrition? Not Kenzi. She just needs to stay awake and alert. Especially with this guy. He can pay while she grabs a table in the corner, slightly secluded. Quiet. Not exactly private. Her expression darkens slightly and her brows knit together in concentration. She waits until he sits down.
"... Okay. Cut the crap. This whole pleasantries thing? Not working. You probably don't actually think I'm cute and you're probably not actually some one-in-a-million guy that hates fancy parties but has to go to them anyway. I saw what you did back there. With the whole--" She circles her hand around her face a few times, leaning forward, "Face thing! You don't have to come out and say it, but just tell me if I was on the right track with the fairytale thing."
Not that any fae would actually tell a human. Again... Bo was the only exception.
Oh, a sharp one. Interesting. Loki puts on a blank stare, sipping at his coffee. Too much chocolate and sugar, just as he likes it. They're not so very different, not in this regard, though he does it to cover the bitterness of what is otherwise, to his sensibilities, a frankly atrocious drink.
"Well, I'm not going to try to sleep with you on the first date, if that's what you mean," he says bemusedly, his expression strongly suggesting that he's wondering why all the crazy ones come to New York. And that, well, he might not mind that they do, under the circumstances.
"I mean, I probably am bad news, but that's a given. No fangs, though, and grandmothers are generally a bit stringy-looking, don't think they'd be to my taste." He takes another sip of his coffee, settling back in his chair and eyeing Kenzi across the table.
"Young women are, admittedly, but I think that's more or less standard for most men my age." Another pause, this one considering.
"As to one-in-a-millions, I really can't comment with any certainty but I'm thinking no, not really -- though if it's fairytales you two are here for I might just be able to help you." For a price, of course. There's always a price.
"You mean there's gonna be a second date?" She can't help the smirk as she digs her fork into the piece of cake and pops it in her mouth. Maybe she was crazy. A sane person wouldn't do half the stuff Kenzi does on a daily basis. A sane person certainly wouldn't have a succubus for a bff and a wolf on speed dial.
"I know a guy with fangs. Total pushover. Fangs are not what I'm worried about."
... What was she worried about? Not freakin' much as of late. Roof over her head (mostly), food in the fridge, steady-ish pay check, and a friend that was more like family than anything. The fae stuff didn't worry her. God... was she becoming complacent?
"Oh great, so you're fattening me up. That's what the whole order whatever thing was REALLY about. Pretty sure that's more or less standard for most men in general. What age even are you? Thirties? Forties? Seven hundreds? Stop me when I get close."
He COULD just be a really skilled magician.
That last part had her setting down her fork and sipping at the hot coffee before folding her arms on the edge of the table. The smile was gone. This is business. "What if we really were here for that? How are you gonna help us?"
Loki has to think about all that, or he looks as if he does, anyway, given the way his eyes drift off and he frowns. "Well, that's the thing, really. Anthony Stark is admittedly remarkable -- and never tell him I said that; he'll take it entirely the wrong way -- but he's not supernatural. Ergo, if I gather your meaning, not what you're after. You're close, though."
He sets his cup down and leans back, running his fingertips over his lower lip. "And speaking of close, your first guess was mostly correct. Thirties." Sort of. "But anyway, that's, you know, interesting overlapping of conversational concepts because I've another one of these bloody events to attend in two days, giving a speech and everything, and I truly could use a date. And your company. And conversation."
Loki's eyes flick back to meet Kenzi's and he smiles faintly, a bit sheepishly, tapping his philtrum. "And believe me, it's going to be terrible, so I'm going to have to say this: come with me. Please. I'll tell you what you need if you say yes."
He spreads his arms. "I mean, I'll tell you now; it doesn't really matter if you show up or not, I just wanted to say that. Bit of fun. Though I do mean it, of course."
Of course he does. That could be fun, letting her see, letting her work it out for herself. He's so much better than any old fairy tale.
"Doubt I'll ever get the opportunity to say a damn thing to Tony Stark. Your ego-stroking secret is safe with me. Close is better than middle-of-nowhere, zero leads, fucked three ways from Sunday." And out comes the phone. She quickly texts Bo, letting her know she can lay off the sex-voodoo and stop flirt-terrogating that freaky facial hair. So much for the irondude with the glowy chest. One down, a bunch more to go.
"Is this seriously happening?" Frig. He's pretty. She'd agree even if he wasn't a potential source of valuable information. "... Yeah, okay. I'm in. But I fully expect to get incredibly drunk and make fun of people behind their backs." Because that's the only way those parties are ever fun. How could she say no to a bit of fun? He did say please.
A wicked smile spreads across her face, "Are you still gonna tell me now that I totally agreed? Or are you gonna make me wait two days?" She would have made him wait.That would have been hilarious.
Still on the fence about him. She can't quite figure out what she's supposed to believe here. People can tell you anything you want, and contrary to popular belief, seeing shouldn't always equal believing. The can make you see about as much as they can tell you. Only thing you can do is go with your gut instinct and even that's wrong a lot of the time. Why stress? Why not just go with it? See what happens. Have some fun.
It is seriously happening. Loki does love a potentially appreciative audience -- and an appreciative audience is rare enough that he's not going to force one into attending his little joke. He smiles really quite cheerfully at her. "Hey, I said I'd tell you."
And he intends to, after he sits up and reaches forward to take another sip of coffee, leaning forward with forearms planted on the table between them. "As I mentioned, you're in the right place, more or less. The hotel, good choice. I mean, think about it -- all sorts of people come and go from hotels, and nobody pays much attention to who they might be, seeing as they're not likely to ever encounter them again."
He knows this as well as anybody. Oh, he doesn't live in hotels anymore, but they're still a valuable tool. "And where in hotels are guests least likely to end up? Where can one hold a conversation without risk of being overheard?"
He's smiling now, gleeful and conspiratorial, though it's nothing to him, this bit of information. He's no particular attachment to the fae and they've no particular fondness for him. This is just business. "The noisiest place in any establishment which has one is the kitchens. Lots of business is conducted in kitchens, believe me, especially in this city. That's where I'd look, were I you."
Well, not exactly. He'd look wherever he happened to sense them, but in this case that happens to be in the kitchens and his exposition is otherwise sound. "And once you've sorted that out you can call me and we'll set up that date."
"Uuuuuugh. I wish you hadn't said that." Last time she worked in a kitchen, she almost got eaten by a land wight. The last time she was just chillin' in a hotel kitchen, she'd lost her voice and had some fire dude after her. Kenzi always gets the shitty undercover jobs while Bo hangs out with the rich dudes and eats lobster and looks all glam. Shouldn't it be brains before beauty? Guess not.
But a deal's a deal. She hands him her phone and reaches for her coffee. "Gimme your digits. Plus you know where to find me."
There's a 50/50 chance of this either being a really good thing or a really bad thing. Honestly? That's probably half the fun right there.
"So what do you do, anyway? How did you get all buddy-buddy with the billionaire super hero? Do you know the other peeps, too?"
Loki programs his mobile number into her phone under the heading 'Big Bad Wolf' and hands it back to her with a flourish. "I met Tony Stark at a... conference, of sorts. He offered me a drink and... well, we didn't get along, so naturally we had to look one another up later and here we are."
He shrugs. "Engineers and physicists typically don't get along unless they're working on something together. He likes his problems practical and applied, I like mine a bit more theoretical, and never the twain shall meet -- until they have to, of course."
Another slant lie. Magic is really just applied physics. The more he reads on the subject the more obvious it becomes. Of course, anyone who doesn't know that isn't likely to guess what he really means. "So we've dedicated a portion of our lives to annoying one another as much as possible, and very occasionally collaborating. I said we were friends; I didn't say the relationship was very... normal."
Or even that friendly, most of the time. If Loki had to think about it he'd probably consider it about as close as he ever got, but really, he doesn't care whether or not it's true in some slant sense or not. Stark would disagree, anyway.
"As for the others, if you mean the others at the party, yes, a few. They're all boring. If you mean the others--" he points upwards and twirls his finger "--yes, I've met them. Bit of a sorry lot but they do relatively admirable work."
She stumbles back, caught by those hands at her shoulders, and finds herself suddenly looking up at a surprisingly attractive face. Damn. Had he been that tall when she started following him? Wait. He was asking her a question. How the hell do mouths work?!
"My, what big hands you have, grandmother." Incoherent whispering of a shell-shocked crazy person? Maybe. Let him think that. No wait, act normal. How the hell does normal work? Normal definitely isn't being almost disappointed when he releases the hold on her shoulders.
"Uh-- yeah. Fine. It's cool, don't even worry about it. I wasn't paying attention." Yes she was. She was paying close attention and totally following this guy. "I"m tough. Sturdy. No big." She smiles.
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"I'm really sorry," he says again, hands dipping into various pockets. "I should've looked first, it's just I seem to've forgotten my-- oh. Oh, no, here it is."
He extracts his hand from the inside pocket of his jacket, flashing both a mobile phone and a wan smile. "Well, now I feel like a right git. Not that I can't say I'm not relieved, mind; I really didn't want to have to go back in there."
Next, of course, is the faintly ashamed look and slight pause, as though he's said something he shouldn't have done. "Look, are you sure you're alright? Normally people don't try to imply that I'm a fairytale monster when I run into them, though I did hit you kind of hard, so, you know, fair enough."
The key to covering up the intentionality of these sorts of actions, in Loki's experience, is to not act perfectly contrite. To be apologetic, yes, but also to permit a bit of egocentrism, a bit of humanity. Nobody's that nice, especially not the sort of person who'd come out of a party like that one.
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She smirks at the fact that he doesn't want to go back in. He'd probably have to put on the other face. The smirk turns into a bright smile at the fairytale monster comment. She laughs, shrugging it off and turning that smile on him.
"I'd probably feel a lot better if you bought me a coffee. Judging by your expensive sense of style, I think you can afford it." Don't give him a choice. Pump him for info. See what you pick up. So much for the stealth tactic.
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Of course, all that's an entirely moot point as he'd no reason to actually return in the first place. All part of the game, as is looking down at himself and laughing. "Well, yeah, I suppose I can, though not as well as you seem to think I can, I have to admit."
Hardly anyone thinks they're as wealthy as they actually are, he's noticed. A curious side-effect of the overall human difficulty with enumeration.
Green eyes flick back up to her face and the self-deprecating laughter fades into nothing more than a smile, wide and a bit abashed. "But yeah, alright. Did you have any place in mind? There's a café a couple of blocks down that's pretty decent, think they're still open. Good food, too, if you're hungry."
And that's one of the wonderful things about Manhattan, really. One is never very far from a passingly good café to utilise in situations just like this one.
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Now is probably a good time to start mentally humming twinkle twinkle little star.
"I'm Kenzi, by the way." Still smiling and now holding her hand out to shake. "You sure someone like you wants to be seen with someone like me?"
The way she raises an eyebrow could mean quite a few different things. She'd let him decide how he wanted to take that. He could lead the way while she vigilantly watched for any sign of magical faejunk or whatever the hell was going on around here. Bo could handle the boobage and drunk billionaires.
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He shrugs sheepishly. "Yeah, I know, I don't sound it. There it is though."
He is, though, after a fashion. Most of this has been pretty honest, as the best lies are. The dishonesty is largely in implications, in intonation and in phrasing, in the way he tries to nudge her into drawing her own conclusions.
"I really don't know what you mean by someone like me, by the way," Loki adds as he sets off down the street, looking down at her with a faint frown. "I was only there for a friend. Last I saw him he was very much distracted by a pair of legs that--"
He looks down at himself and hums concedingly. "Well, alright, they weren't longer than mine, but they were attached to someone much prettier than I am. Someone who also happened to possess a fine pair of breasts, and I certainly can't compete with that. Nor to be entirely honest would I care to. He can entertain himself the rest of the evening and everybody else can carry on pretending they're having fun. I'm done, and thank fuck for that."
He gives a wide, good-riddance gesture. "So really, anything on the menu. I owe you for giving me an excuse not to go back. Company's already infinitely better anyway. What about you, then; on vacation? Peoplewatching?"
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"Kind of a mouthful. You're... Norwegian?" Some kind of Scandinavian magic going on up in here. There are fae everywhere, he's not off the hook yet.
"Huh. I bet you I know that pair of legs." Sounded a hell of a lot like Bo. "Yep. Tallish brunette, brown eyes, and the best rack this side of the border? Sounds like your friend and my friend are getting along." Which just gave her more incentive to question the hell out of him. He seemed cool... but like hell was she going to trust a first impression. You can't trust anyone off the bat. Except Bo. And she is the ONLY exception.
"Ha. Don't say it like that. Owing me can be dangerous, I don't joke about favors." She eyes him warily, looking up with an expression halfway between amusement and severe distrust. There's no way he's legit into her... unless goth chicks are more his thing than fancy parties like he's trying to get her to believe. It would be nice to believe that. Not freakin' likely, but nice. "Vacation. Staying at that hotel. The friend has connections, I'm just kind of along for the ride."
It was basically true. All she left out was the part about working on this vacation and who those connections actually were. Mostly true. True enough.
"Guess we picked a pretty good time to come down, huh? The way they rebuilt everyone after that whole... thing. With the guys in the crazy outfits and the flying dudes? Were you here for that?" Just gonna casually glance up, looking more concerned than anything. "Didn't exactly get many details when it happened."
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And that is nothing but perfectly honest. The whole affair had been horrible for all involved, Loki no less than most. That he'd instigated the whole thing hadn't meant he'd enjoyed it, or wanted it, ultimately.
"It was... Hell on Earth. Nothing like it. You should've seen this place when they were through." He hunches his shoulders and falls silent for a time, faintly downcast in aspect as he slouches along the street, glancing over only to ensure that Kenzi is still following.
After a time, though, he straightens. "I'm sorry. Not a great set of memories, those. And, ah, Icelandic, by the way. Me."
Or at least his Icelandic is more natural than his Norwegian, which has changed in strange ways. His accent and word usage is notably archaic, and in a city like this? Well, that might just be noticed.
"And you, you and your friend are Canadian? Come down, you said. This side of the border. Yeah? Oh, here, come on, this is the place."
At the next corner he stops with a smile and a nod in the direction of the little shop he'd meant, small and comfortable. And better than that: they know him, but they don't know him. Not many people actually saw him clearly so not many recognise him, but he does get looks occasionally. They'd not be welcome now.
That the barista knows his order, however, is. It makes his story look better. He gestures Kenzi forward. "Anything on the menu, like I said."
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The cafe is totally cute. The fact that they know his order is totally adorable. The guy wears fancy scarves, hangs out with billionaires, goes to fancy parties, may or may not be able to change his face, isn't some high-society stereotypical douchebag, and he has a usual at a tiny cafe like this? She's not sure what to think at this point. The plot thickens.
She orders coffee, black, and chocolate cake. Sugar and caffeine! Who needs actual nutrition? Not Kenzi. She just needs to stay awake and alert. Especially with this guy. He can pay while she grabs a table in the corner, slightly secluded. Quiet. Not exactly private. Her expression darkens slightly and her brows knit together in concentration. She waits until he sits down.
"... Okay. Cut the crap. This whole pleasantries thing? Not working. You probably don't actually think I'm cute and you're probably not actually some one-in-a-million guy that hates fancy parties but has to go to them anyway. I saw what you did back there. With the whole--" She circles her hand around her face a few times, leaning forward, "Face thing! You don't have to come out and say it, but just tell me if I was on the right track with the fairytale thing."
Not that any fae would actually tell a human. Again... Bo was the only exception.
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"Well, I'm not going to try to sleep with you on the first date, if that's what you mean," he says bemusedly, his expression strongly suggesting that he's wondering why all the crazy ones come to New York. And that, well, he might not mind that they do, under the circumstances.
"I mean, I probably am bad news, but that's a given. No fangs, though, and grandmothers are generally a bit stringy-looking, don't think they'd be to my taste." He takes another sip of his coffee, settling back in his chair and eyeing Kenzi across the table.
"Young women are, admittedly, but I think that's more or less standard for most men my age." Another pause, this one considering.
"As to one-in-a-millions, I really can't comment with any certainty but I'm thinking no, not really -- though if it's fairytales you two are here for I might just be able to help you." For a price, of course. There's always a price.
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"I know a guy with fangs. Total pushover. Fangs are not what I'm worried about."
... What was she worried about? Not freakin' much as of late. Roof over her head (mostly), food in the fridge, steady-ish pay check, and a friend that was more like family than anything. The fae stuff didn't worry her. God... was she becoming complacent?
"Oh great, so you're fattening me up. That's what the whole order whatever thing was REALLY about. Pretty sure that's more or less standard for most men in general. What age even are you? Thirties? Forties? Seven hundreds? Stop me when I get close."
He COULD just be a really skilled magician.
That last part had her setting down her fork and sipping at the hot coffee before folding her arms on the edge of the table. The smile was gone. This is business. "What if we really were here for that? How are you gonna help us?"
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He sets his cup down and leans back, running his fingertips over his lower lip. "And speaking of close, your first guess was mostly correct. Thirties." Sort of. "But anyway, that's, you know, interesting overlapping of conversational concepts because I've another one of these bloody events to attend in two days, giving a speech and everything, and I truly could use a date. And your company. And conversation."
Loki's eyes flick back to meet Kenzi's and he smiles faintly, a bit sheepishly, tapping his philtrum. "And believe me, it's going to be terrible, so I'm going to have to say this: come with me. Please. I'll tell you what you need if you say yes."
He spreads his arms. "I mean, I'll tell you now; it doesn't really matter if you show up or not, I just wanted to say that. Bit of fun. Though I do mean it, of course."
Of course he does. That could be fun, letting her see, letting her work it out for herself. He's so much better than any old fairy tale.
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"Is this seriously happening?" Frig. He's pretty. She'd agree even if he wasn't a potential source of valuable information. "... Yeah, okay. I'm in. But I fully expect to get incredibly drunk and make fun of people behind their backs." Because that's the only way those parties are ever fun. How could she say no to a bit of fun? He did say please.
A wicked smile spreads across her face, "Are you still gonna tell me now that I totally agreed? Or are you gonna make me wait two days?" She would have made him wait.That would have been hilarious.
Still on the fence about him. She can't quite figure out what she's supposed to believe here. People can tell you anything you want, and contrary to popular belief, seeing shouldn't always equal believing. The can make you see about as much as they can tell you. Only thing you can do is go with your gut instinct and even that's wrong a lot of the time. Why stress? Why not just go with it? See what happens. Have some fun.
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And he intends to, after he sits up and reaches forward to take another sip of coffee, leaning forward with forearms planted on the table between them. "As I mentioned, you're in the right place, more or less. The hotel, good choice. I mean, think about it -- all sorts of people come and go from hotels, and nobody pays much attention to who they might be, seeing as they're not likely to ever encounter them again."
He knows this as well as anybody. Oh, he doesn't live in hotels anymore, but they're still a valuable tool. "And where in hotels are guests least likely to end up? Where can one hold a conversation without risk of being overheard?"
He's smiling now, gleeful and conspiratorial, though it's nothing to him, this bit of information. He's no particular attachment to the fae and they've no particular fondness for him. This is just business. "The noisiest place in any establishment which has one is the kitchens. Lots of business is conducted in kitchens, believe me, especially in this city. That's where I'd look, were I you."
Well, not exactly. He'd look wherever he happened to sense them, but in this case that happens to be in the kitchens and his exposition is otherwise sound. "And once you've sorted that out you can call me and we'll set up that date."
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But a deal's a deal. She hands him her phone and reaches for her coffee. "Gimme your digits. Plus you know where to find me."
There's a 50/50 chance of this either being a really good thing or a really bad thing. Honestly? That's probably half the fun right there.
"So what do you do, anyway? How did you get all buddy-buddy with the billionaire super hero? Do you know the other peeps, too?"
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He shrugs. "Engineers and physicists typically don't get along unless they're working on something together. He likes his problems practical and applied, I like mine a bit more theoretical, and never the twain shall meet -- until they have to, of course."
Another slant lie. Magic is really just applied physics. The more he reads on the subject the more obvious it becomes. Of course, anyone who doesn't know that isn't likely to guess what he really means. "So we've dedicated a portion of our lives to annoying one another as much as possible, and very occasionally collaborating. I said we were friends; I didn't say the relationship was very... normal."
Or even that friendly, most of the time. If Loki had to think about it he'd probably consider it about as close as he ever got, but really, he doesn't care whether or not it's true in some slant sense or not. Stark would disagree, anyway.
"As for the others, if you mean the others at the party, yes, a few. They're all boring. If you mean the others--" he points upwards and twirls his finger "--yes, I've met them. Bit of a sorry lot but they do relatively admirable work."
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